Should I be broadcasting that fact to the Whole Wide World, or the World-Wide-Web, as this case may be?
Don’t get any bright ideas of finding me alone, really. A couple of protective dogs, Smith & Wesson, Remington, a hen, and an attack rooster keep me company while I type.
With my family off to Disney on a long-planned Mardi Gras vacation (and everyone else around here parading), this should be a vacation for me, yet I found myself in the teen boys’ bedroom, aghast at what I discovered there. I debated about taking photos of the the unidentifiable things I found under the beds and in the closet while cleaning earlier. Then, I thought better of it.
We’ve only been in this house about 19 months, and that room looks like it’s been occupied for a decade, and maybe not thoroughly cleaned in the same amount of time. Trying hard not to blame myself for letting things get so bad, millions of random thoughts about where my priorities lie run through my head.
So, I laid aside the dustmop, pushed aside the overflowing trashcan, overwhelmed to the point that I’d rather write about the filthiness of that room than face the cleaning of the same.
While sweeping up the huge pile of dirt, dust, and dog hair into the dust pan, I asked myself another question,
“Would I rather be doing one thing really well, doing a few things halfway, or just living life according to priorities?”
Priorities. That’s a good Blanket word.
My next thought, we have but one life to live on this earth. How should I finish out my time here? What really matters in life? Perfectly painted walls, with not a scratch on them? Dust free surfaces, where no on can write their names with their fingers?
Life has never been about status and money for me, although I admit a shortage of it can make life miserable, unbearable, and anxiety filled.
If not the pursuit of money, then what is it that should fill my days?
Making a difference–maybe a difference in my children’s lives by homeschooling them until it was time to launch them off into the world of their own? Like college for Dotter; or getting a GED before trying college like Daboo; or a small private high school like Danno; or public middle school and high school like J. and Termite until they graduate?
Now that they are all well on their prospective paths in life, what will I do to make a difference? With no grandchildren yet to influence (read: spoil), what should I really be doing with my time?
Upon reflection, life appears to me like a tree bearing a variety of fruit–some withering on the vine, some rotten and fallen to the ground, others ready to be picked, and others still green, not quite ripe. And then there are the buds. The blossoms of possibility, just sprouting at the ends of the branches.
Maybe my time home alone would be better spent being still and quiet, meditating on the fruits ready to be picked, the not-quite-ripe, and the blossoms of hope, fighting the urge to regret the fruit that died on the vine, not weeping over the rotten fruit that is gone forever. Their lives were not for naught, for in their death, they provided fertilizer for the ground and food for the smaller things living there, subsurface.
So with this post, I’m giving myself permission to forget about the hole in the sheetrock, the furniture scratches on the wall, and the fuzz balls flying on the fan blades–focusing instead on the trees that will bear the best fruit, cultivating them, and seeing them to fruition.
What I reap will, hopefully, be much more abundant than even I could ever dream or imagine.
Alone but not abandoned,